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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22628977">all my wooing done</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithens/pseuds/smithens'>smithens</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Downton Abbey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bittersweet, Idleness, London Social Season, M/M, Post-Coitus, Pre-Canon, Young Love</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 09:28:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,145</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22628977</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithens/pseuds/smithens</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Not all firsts have seconds.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Thomas Barrow/Duke of Crowborough</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>69</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>all my wooing done</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>title from <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/50299/marriage-morning">marriage morning by alfred, lord tennyson</a>. i removed the copula because i didn't care for it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"...and come to think of it, I don't know how it is that I've never had a man before you."</p><p>"Could've chosen more wisely for your first, though," Thomas says. He wouldn't admit it, but he's charmed by all this, both the admission that he's his first  — his first in <em>that,</em> at least  — and the little anecdotes from his public school days, because it's so bloody ridiculous what men like him get up to in their youth.</p><p>If he'd done even half of that, a quarter of that, a <em>hundredth</em>, his father would have thrown him out without a second thought, not sat him down with a cigar and told him that all boys get up to tomfoolery in their dormitories.</p><p>Then, his father did that anyway. </p><p>Philip tuts. "I thought you were exquisite."</p><p>Lucky, lucky Thomas, that Philip Villiers never grew out of it as he was meant to.</p><p>He opens his eyes — he doesn't smile or frown, only looks, and Philip looks back down at him with a faint crease in his brow, concern in his eyes.</p><p>Satisfied with this effect, Thomas shuts them again and curls up closer, nuzzling the top of his thigh with his nose.</p><p>"I was."</p><p>"Oh?"</p><p>"'s the problem, is you've set yourself up for disappointment, your Grace," he says, smirking. He can't keep his emotions off his face in front of him, not unless he's <em>serving,</em> and it's getting to be something of a problem. For him, at least. Philip says he likes seeing him that way, the same way he prefers him in a cap and suit to a livery. "Not everyone's so <em>exquisite</em> as I am."</p><p>"Is that right? — and really, you mustn't call me anything but Philip, I daresay it's been long enough."</p><p>He was joking, but he does like being reminded of the fact that they're on a Christian name basis.</p><p>"Would I lie to you? Hm?"</p><p>"Wouldn't you?"</p><p>"No."</p><p>The worst part is he means it.</p><p>"I suppose I oughtn't believe you when you say things like that," Philip returns, but when Thomas loses his resolve to be coy and looks back at him again he's smiling, sweet. He's the only man who's ever looked at him like this in his life. "But I do."</p><p>"Well, we do plenty of things we <em>oughtn't</em>," says Thomas. "Dukes oughtn't go around seducing footmen."</p><p>"Seducing footmen," he scoffs. Or perhaps that's what he thinks he's doing, because despite his tone he's still got a smile that reaches his eyes, and his fingers are still in Thomas's hair, running through it, occasionally tugging in a way that warms him up again. "I rather recall it being the other way around."</p><p>"Footmen aren't supposed to go round seducing Dukes, either."</p><p>Philip pulls on a lock of hair, hard enough to sting; Thomas gasps and closes his eyes.</p><p>He really needs to be going, but this is too lovely for words.</p><p>"More's the pity," and his voice is smooth and sultry. "I may rather like to be seduced."</p><p>"Just were, weren't you?"</p><p>"I should like to be again."</p><p>"You'll have to wait," Thomas says flippantly, regaining his self-control and hoisting himself up, "'cause I've got to be back at bloody Grantham House before morning."</p><p>"You mustn't leave me," Philip replies, dramatic; he's smiling in that handsome way of his that gives Thomas butterflies. "I shall die."</p><p>"Guess I'd better promise to see you again soon, then."</p><p>"Is that a promise you can keep?"</p><p>Because it's August already. The swiftest hours...</p><p>Thomas bites his lip and rolls out of bed.</p><p>"Well, I've kept it enough times before now, haven't I," he says after a moment. If Philip notices his hesitation, he makes no sign of it.</p><p>"And when do Lord and Lady Grantham return to Downton?"</p><p>God, he doesn't want to think about that.</p><p>"If they had their way we'd be here 'til Lady Edith finds a man who'll take her."</p><p>Philip hums. "And I take it by your tone that were that the case, the answer to my question would be <em>never.</em>"</p><p>"Quite right."</p><p>He starts picking up his clothes.</p><p>"If only I could take you with me to the country," Philip muses, and he sits up as well.</p><p>Thomas faces the mirror to dress; he watches Philip watching him in the reflection.</p><p>"But you will be back before the start of the shooting season?"</p><p>"I'm sure I shall," Thomas says evenly. He casts him a quick glance. "There're always calling cards to deliver."</p><p>"I'm pleased to hear it."</p><p>They fall into a poised silence. Thomas buttons his shirt and dons his trousers efficiently — not hastily, efficiently. If he'd thought to he might have taken more time. </p><p>Philip apparently agrees. "Must you be so quick in everything?"</p><p>"I'm not quick in <em>everything,</em>" he replies, smirking, and Philip coughs, turns his eyes from the mirror.</p><p>Just how he likes him.</p><p>"It's habit," Thomas tells him. It is. "Sharing a room and everything. Waiting on your sort hand and foot. I've got to be presentable at a moment's notice."</p><p>"Your life is so dreadful."</p><p>"Not while you're around," and that's true enough, but the irony of a Duke whose declining household still has more servants than the flourishing one of the Earl of Grantham decrying the life of a domestic is not lost on him. "Want me to dress you for bed?"</p><p>"I don't dress for bed in the summer," Philip returns.</p><p>Thomas shrugs. "I know that, but if you wanted to keep me in the <em>bedchamber</em> for longer…"</p><p>He does up his waistcoat and slings his jacket over his arm. His overcoat's out in the hall, although why he bothered to bring it in the first place… it'll be cooler out now, at least, but London's always hot and stuffy. No need.</p><p>"Very clever."</p><p>So he pulls Philip up by his wrists and gives him a peck on the cheek, and they settle on getting him into a nightshirt and dressing gown that will be promptly removed the moment he's out the door.</p><p>But it lets them touch one another for longer.</p><p>"Well, I've done my job," Thomas says.</p><p>"You do make an excellent valet, in a pinch."</p><p>Thomas raises his eyebrows.</p><p>"Wasn't referring to <em>that</em> job — already knew I was good at that."</p><p>"Did you, Thomas?" Philip asks airily, and then he's taken him by the torso and tugged him closer, settled his head at his shoulder. "Well, it isn't as though I prefer you a servant — what job, then, dearest?"</p><p>"Ruining you for anyone else," murmurs Thomas, lips so close to his ear he may as well be kissing it.</p><p>Philip's breath hitches; he whispers, with his hand firm at Thomas's waist, "as if I should ever care to have anyone else but you."</p><p>
  <em>I oughtn't believe you when you say things like that.</em>
</p><p>But he does.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this is another disastrous flight to istanbul fic but i just finished it this morning. the theme of the Flight To Istanbul fics is thomas getting his hair played with. not sure why. my id was into that i suppose.</p><p>find me on tumblr as <a href="https://combeferre.tumblr.com/">@combeferre</a>!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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